


My Charade

by KittyAug, KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Series: Rifles and Emperors AU [2]
Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternative Universe - FBI, BDSM, Background Case, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fetish, Fetish Balls, It's For a Case, Kidnapping, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Dean Winchester of Lawrence Kansas PD has to go undercover with FBI Special Agent John Constantine for a joint task force. </p><p>Which would be fine. If it wasn't for the fact that their cover involves both fake dating and not-so fake BDSM clubs. Dean may just be in over his head. Just a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Charade

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt asking for a Constandean Fake Relationship AU - here you go nonnie! Finally and at last.
> 
> This fic is a prequel to [ Thanksgiving, Rifles and Emperors](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3286268) but significantly less fluffy.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you to WTINP for the beta reading and plotting assistance and general awesomeness. <3

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Dean grouches as he fixes Constantine’s bowtie. What kind of Fed can’t tie a bowtie? Or a normal tie for that matter. This whole thing is fucking stupid.

“Well you did, so shut it,” Constantine snarks back. He does a stupid little hopping jump to try and see himself in the mirror over Dean’s shoulder. Dean sighs and steps aside.

“Not bad,” Constantine acknowledges his own reflection, then gives Dean another lingering once over. “Not bad at all, mate.”

The way Constantine smirks at him makes Dean’s throat go dry. He coughs to cover it and checks the com-link in his cuff instead.

“Benny, you there man?”

“Sure am, sugar.” Benny’s rough Delacroix drawl comes across the hidden com in Dean’s ear, loud and clear.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realised he was holding. Hearing Benny’s voice and the reminder that this is _just_ an op helps calm his twisted nerves.

The thing is, this shouldn’t be a problem. Dean had even been cocky about it when the FBI liaison had informed them he’d be working with another guy for this op. He’d joked about it. Said he didn’t care as long as they were hot enough to pull off being with him. Benny had laughed and rolled his eyes, Garth had snorted his drink all over his desk. It’d been a win.

Then he found out exactly who he was being paired with, and now he just has to not freak the fuck out and it will be fine. Being paired up with a dude hadn’t been a problem; being paired up with this dude might be. For all the wrong reasons, too. Fuck, he was going to start freaking out again just thinking about it.

The thing about Special Agent Constantine is that he is unorthodox, to say the freaking least. As far as Dean can tell the FBI only puts up with him because he gets the job done, all the damn time. He hasn’t been _caught_ bending the rules too far, not yet anyway. So here he is. The guy with the highest arrest to conviction record in the state. The guy who’s had more high profile cases than Dean has had _cases_. Pretending to be Dean’s date to the annual ball for Lawrence City’s very own high class underground sex club. Great. Just freaking great!

“Not gettin’ cold feet are you, Winchester?” Constantine asks, dragging Dean’s mind back to the problem at hand. Not that Constantine is _at hand_ , exactly. Just, you know, the current situation. Dean really hopes the blush he can feel on his neck isn’t visible.

“Nope,” Dean says, tries on some confidence of his own. “Just trying to figure out how we sell this, man. I mean someone like you with someone like me. Hope it isn’t too much of a stretch, ya know?”

Constantine surprises him then by stepping up smooth and sudden, right back into Dean’s personal space. Brings them face to face and steals Dean’s breath in more ways than one. He’s an inch or two shorter than Dean but for a moment Dean feels cowed. Feels like he should look up into those too dark, too deep, brown eyes. Dean swallows, throat dry again for the second time in as many minutes.

“Oh, I think I can sell the gig, mate. No problem.” He drags his eyes over Dean’s body, even more suggestive than ever. Dean can feel his blood follow the movement, skin becoming heated and a little too tight where Constantine’s eyes seem to touch him. Makes him wonder what the dude’s hands would feel like instead… or his tongue.

“I hate you,” Dean says, more snark than bite but disgruntled nonetheless.

“Good,” Constantine smirks right back, edges even closer to Dean’s face. “You’ll sell it a right treat too then, won’t you? Strong emotion, love, hate, same thing in the end, innit?”

“Whatever,” Dean shrugs off his discomfort like he always does and gropes for a new topic. “What’s with these penguin suits anyway? I thought this was a sex club, where’s the leather and chains?”

Constantine laughs again, smoke edged and low. “Not that kind of club, love. You’ll see.”

Constantine was right. It isn’t the kind of club Dean expected.

It’s in a ballroom for a start, or at least the main room is. A huge banquet hall that has been converted for the night. Women in evening dresses, even if some are a bit more revealing than what he saw working security details. And yes, Constantine had been right about the monkey suits too, all the guys are wearing tuxedos and look almost identical. There’s a string quartet playing in one corner of the stage at the far end of the hall. A grand piano, currently unattended on the other side of the stage and… more exotic equipment taking up the rest of the stage area. Not a lot of it though. Just enough for a show. The real play areas must be through the side doors, people are moving in and out of this primary space and into whatever rooms make up the rest of the event.

Constantine snags a couple glasses of champagne off a passing waiter and passes one to Dean, letting his hand linger longer than it should. Dean wonders if he’s caught someone watching, or if he’s just being a dick. He may never know. Constantine is already leading the way through the openly curious but otherwise polite crowd. They’re looking for Constantine’s CI, Elly Fontaine. She’s hard to miss, even in this crowd.

She’s tall, for a start. Flame red hair layered up in a complex hair-do that Dean can’t even start to understand. Her corset and full skirt do amazing things to her figure. It has all of the intended effect on Dean. Which is even more embarrassing, seeing as she knows he’s probably an agent rather than just Constantine’s befuddled date. She’s a Dominatrix, and you can tell, it’s in her spine and her focus. Hidden in the sugar of her voice. She’s also the person who first noticed that there might be people using the exclusive Lawrence Sex Club as a cover for human trafficking operations.

Luckily Constantine does the talking so Dean’s sudden fluster isn’t as apparent beyond the introductions. Maybe she just thinks he’s really good at his job, who knows. Constantine just smirks at him and carries on. Most of the talking is just to establish their cover anyway.

“Johnny,” Elly purrs, placing her hand on the small of Constantine’s back and effectively steering all three of them toward a small crowd of people by the lavish buffet. “You just have to meet Dr Talbot, he’s English too, you know. I’m sure you’ll have an absolute bundle to talk about.”

She’s good. Really good. She gets the introductions done, “John Lydon and his partner, Dean Smith,” then she has both Dean and John ensconced in the conversation before she whisks away to do almost the exact same thing with the next couple to arrive. If he didn’t know better Dean would swear she had no idea she just introduced a possible human trafficker to the Feds.

Talbot seems to be showing off about the fact that his daughter is going to be performing tonight. Which is some _Wrong Turn_ kinda creepy. Not evidence of human trafficking, though. At least not yet.

When Alex Logue, their secondary target, joins their little group Dean thinks they’ve hit pay dirt. Logue is English too, more like Talbot than Constantine, but Dean gives in to the urge to joke about feeling outnumbered. They all laugh. It seems to be working.

Dean’s not sure how the conversation spirals out of his control, but it does. He’s not even sure why or from whom the initial question comes. Logue and Talbot excuse themselves and Dean itches to follow, or at least place a bug. But it does mean that they finally manage to get the women alone, their best bet for intel or a way in - but it comes with a price. There’s an offer of “you can come with us but you’ve got to play.” Maybe that’s how they end up in the ‘playroom’ and backing themselves into this corner. It’s steamy, there’s a spa pool full of semi or fully naked people. It’s all getting very real, very quick. Dean can’t help wondering what Constantine would look like without the tux and glistening wet.

Also, Mrs Logue seems to be flirting with them, Dean in particular, and that’s just awkward even if she wasn’t a possible people smuggler. So Constantine steps up to the plate. Not that the brit would understand the metaphor. He does it anyway. Dean’s grateful for this distraction despite how much the possessive turn kind of turns him on.

Constantine places a firm, controlling hand on the back of Dean’s neck and pulls him in, fast and sudden and just right. His palm is dry and hot on Dean’s skin, and all Dean can do is look at him. He gets caught on his dark eyes and his lips, so close that Dean can feel smokey breath on his skin. He’s distracted by the proximity. Not thinking about the case, or the audience, or the situation.

There’s still a question in Constantine's eyes as he pulls Dean in closer still. Dean gives an almost imperceptible nod. There is no way in Hell he’s backing down now. Not this close or this hot. When Constantine finally kisses him he gets lost in it. The Hellblazer, throws his whole body into it, he rolls his hips with it. Real and deep and- Oh shit, he’s going to feel how aroused Dean is. How much he isn’t acting. How much he wants this. Fuck, okay. Turns out he isn’t the only one caught up in the moment. The firm pressure of Constantine's unmistakable erection against his thigh is enough to make Dean want more. When he moans into the kiss it isn’t for show. It’s hedonistic and wanton and a little lost. He’s going crazy just from this. From the slide of tongue on tongue and mouth to mouth. He wants more than he’s gonna get.

There’s something possessive and controlling in the way Constantine still has a grip on his neck, and the other hand firm on his hip too. Something that makes him intolerably aware of how familiar the agent had been with all the paraphernalia surrounding them. Makes Dean want to find out just how familiar he is with that world. Makes him want to touch and pull and push it all too far. Makes him think of hard cocks and bitten lips, ropes and restraints that allow for a total lack of real restraint. His hips stutter of their own accord, turning he kiss from fiery to scorching.

Constantine bites Dean’s lip, drags another aching whisper of a moan from him.

“Wow, brother,” Benny’s voice comes through his earpiece like a bucket of ice water. “I never knew you were such a good actor.” Does that sound smug? Yes, Dean’s pretty sure that’s what smug Cajun sounds like. Shit.

Constantine steps away, covering for Dean’s current fluster with an evil grin and licking his lips. Chasing the taste of Dean’s tongue. Dean’s fixated despite himself. Watches the movement despite the reminder that this was meant to be an act. His blood is still hot, he’s aware of his heart beating fast and hard in his chest. It’s not the only thing that’s harder than normal either. Constantine looks far too pleased with himself. Although right now Dean is inclined to approve. Constantine’s tie and jacket are dishevelled in the best way possible and Dean has to fight the urge to forget the case and back him up into the wall and see how much worse he can make it.

There’s something in Constantine’s eyes that suggests that the son of a bitch knows it too. Dean is so, so screwed. Though that thought just makes him wonder what it would take to make that literal. Which really isn’t helping with the whole bust the people smugglers thing. Damn it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Fetish Balls are a real thing that happen. They can be pretty awesome actually.
> 
> The title is from the song Carry on Wayward Son, the full lyric is "My charade, is the event of the season"

**Author's Note:**

> I live for comments and kudos. I hope you all like the start of this. More to come when inspiration strikes. Hope you all enjoyed this long overdue taster!
> 
> Tumblr - [kittyaugust.tumblr.com](http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/)


End file.
